


The Unexpected Wedding

by LadyRa



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 08:03:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2184099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRa/pseuds/LadyRa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Machine comes up with a way to get John and Harold back together.  Set after the end of season 3.  Lots of shmoop!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unexpected Wedding

The Unexpected Wedding

John found out he was getting married a few minutes after one of his students let out a squeal. He gave all his students a lot of slack, but there was no place for squealing in a dojo. "Sylvia?" he said.

"Why didn't you tell us, Sensei?" she asked, a newspaper in her hand.

"Tell you what?" He took a few calming breaths to let go of his annoyance. He'd lost some of his easy control when Harold and Bear had walked away from him four months ago; when he'd been left alone and purposeless for the first time in three years. 

The feeling of abandonment had been crushing, even as he knew it wasn't Harold's fault. It just seemed so inconceivable to him that between the Machine, him and Harold, they couldn't have figured out a way to stay together. But there'd been no time, and there'd been nothing else to do but follow the instructions Root had given him, to fly to Vermont, and assume ownership of a martial arts studio. 

Root had given him the unamusing name of Arnold Chum. With the skills he'd learned watching Harold, he’d changed his name to John Thrush. He'd hoped Harold might see the name change and come after him, but he hadn't. 

She opened the newspaper to a page in the society's section. "That you're getting married!"

John blinked at her and then snatched the paper out of her hand and zeroed in on the picture of him, and the text next to his picture. Apparently he was getting married. This Saturday, to be exact, to someone named Theodore Bunting in some town in Vermont he didn't recognize. His heart started to pound, and he pulled out his phone, clicked on Google Chrome, typed in Bunting, bird. He waited, impatient, for the phone to respond to his query. Was a bunting a type of bird? If it was, it couldn't be a coincidence, could it?

"Well?" Sylvia demanded, her grin slipping to confusion. "Are you getting married? I didn't even know you were seeing someone." She sounded disappointed. John knew he garnered a lot of attention, and he was used to dishing out disappointment. He and Harold had never taken a step further than the flirting and occasional light touch, but he still felt like a widower with no interest in touching anyone else.

"I didn't realize my personal life was any of your business," growled John.

She lowered her eyes but stood there intractably, too nosy for her own good.

Pictures of brightly colored birds showed up on his phone, labeled Painted Buntings. "He's shy," John finally said, through a dry throat, through a need to run to wherever this announcement was pointing him, to find who he hoped would be there, and to grab him and not let go. "I didn't know he was going to run an announcement. It surprised me."

Sylvia looked both gleeful and pouty. "Well congratulations. Everyone's going to be devastated you're off the market for real."

"He could have picked a better picture," said Denise, another female student, and a friend of Sylvia's. "This one barely looks like you."

John had noticed that, and it was another reason to believe this was what he hoped it was; another reason for his heart to pound in anticipation. It had been manipulated. His eyes set a little further apart, his nose flattened, his lips just slightly thinned. He was still recognizable, but this picture wouldn't trigger any facial recognition programs that might be looking for his face. Jesus. Harold must have found him. He had to be behind this. Who else could it be? The Machine? 

He barely managed to get through the class, thankful it was the last one of the day. When the final student left, still trying to get more information about his soon to be husband, John locked the door behind him and pulled down the shades. It was currently Tuesday, and Saturday seemed like years away. 

He guessed it could be Root doing this, thinking that arranging a fake wedding would be a good prank. If Root ended up being the one waiting for him instead of Harold, John would have to kill her. At least seriously maim her. 

But the longer he thought about it, the more certain he was that it had to be the Machine. Because if it was Harold, if Harold knew he was here, then why hadn't he come by? He had walk-ins all the time, including accident victims hoping to get stronger. No one would have given Harold a second glance.

Suppose John hadn't seen it or had it brought to his notice? Had it tried other ways to get them together, only failing to get John's attention? Had there been other opportunities to meet where Harold had waited for John to show up, only for him not to appear? The thought of that hurt his heart, and he found himself rubbing his chest.

He would go a little insane on Saturday if Harold failed to show up. Except, he thought, he had a name now; he didn't need to wait until Saturday. John shut off the lights and climbed the stairs up to his apartment, turning on his computer as he moved to the refrigerator to get a beer. 

He hadn't used a computer or phone or any digital equipment for a month once he was alone, afraid that Samaritan would find him. But after a month had gone by, John realized he truly couldn't live that way, and if that meant taking the chance of getting a bullet through his brain, then so be it. He wasn't stupid about it. He didn't go trolling through the past, looking for Harold, or dipping into any of the accounts Harold had set up for him.

Fortunately, he didn't need much. He missed the money, sure, but it was mostly the fact that it was all from Harold. Harold had bought him his multi-million dollar apartment overlooking Central Park. Harold had bought him his suits, and his watch, and subsidized his weapon purchases. Everything he wore or did was a constant reminder of Harold, and John had reveled in it. 

Once his computer was on, he typed in Theodore Bunting, Vermont. After a few seconds he frowned at the screen. There were, unexpectedly, quite a few Theodore Buntings. He added the word wedding. The only thing that came up was the wedding notice. Either Harold was still keeping a very low profile, or the Machine was making sure John wouldn't find him.

But that didn't mean Harold couldn't find him. Assuming he read the wedding announcement. Assuming he thought to look up John Thrush, because John Thrush did have an internet presence due to the dojo.

For the rest of the week he waited for Harold to walk into the dojo. Every time the door opened, every time the phone rang, his heart would race until he saw or heard it wasn't Harold. 

During his Thursday lunch break John bought himself a nice suit. Not as nice as one Harold would have bought for him, but if he was going to have another suit like that, he'd wait until Harold could get him one. Was Harold still rich? He had a hard time imagining Harold on a subsistence level salary. Although that wasn't strictly true, because Harold had played that part for seventeen years, hadn't he? Going in every day, day after day, to a low level position, hiding in plain sight, when in fact he owned the company.

Friday night, after the dojo was closed, he polished his shoes until he could see himself in them. He'd closed the dojo for the weekend, not entirely sure he'd be coming back. He wondered if there'd actually be a ceremony; it would be legal if there was, because marriage between same sex partners was legal in Vermont. John had looked it up.

He sat in his small apartment until well after midnight, staring out the window, allowing himself to wallow in how incomplete he felt without Harold at his side. And Bear! Maybe he'd see Bear. Damn, he missed that dog. He'd almost gotten himself a dog, missing the ritual of walking one every day but, in the end, had chosen not to.

He forced himself to bed before too much longer, setting his phone alarm for seven am. John would go for a run, and then get ready for a wedding that may or may not be happening.

*****

John parked his car outside the small town hall where the ceremony was supposed to take place. He checked out the other cars in the parking lot, wondering if one of them belonged to Harold. There were only eight of them, and there was nothing particular to distinguish one from the other besides the make, model and color. No expensive town car or limousine, not that John had actually expected to see one.

He sat in the car, suddenly afraid to go in. Suppose Harold wasn't there. Suppose he and the justice of the peace or whatever officiate had been procured for the day, sat in there for an hour waiting for someone who didn't even know he was supposed to be there. 

Then, annoyed at his cowardice, John opened the car door, got out, and strode quickly toward the front of the building. He yanked the door open and glanced inside. There was someone at the front desk, and he could hear voices coming from offices that lined the hallway.

Around the corner he could just make out a small sign that read Waiting Room. John stopped, unable to even look.

But then he heard a bark. And another. Then a spate of excited barking, and Bear was coming around the corner, legs scrabbling for purchase on the tile floor, and barreling into him, taking John right down to the floor, the way he had the last time they'd been separated for any time.

John just held him tightly, letting Bear lick him and slobber on him, and step on his legs and feet, and John didn't give a good Goddamn because he was so happy to see him. So Goddamn happy to see him. Because if Bear was here, then…and John heard the uneven steps approach him, stop right next to him, and John knew it was Harold, knew it, but he kept his face hidden in Bear's fur.

Then he felt a hand on his hand, touching his hair, combing it off his forehead, then stroking his hair again. "Oh, John," Harold said. "I've missed you terribly."

And then John was surging to his feet and grabbing Harold, trying to be careful of his injuries, but mostly just needing to have contact, as much as he could have, as if he were a desiccated sponge and Harold was the water that could make him alive and useful again.

Harold didn't seem any more inclined to let go of John, and Bear kept dancing around them. John finally pulled back just far enough to look at Harold, at his prim mouth, and widow's peak and glasses, and his still very expensive bespoke suit, which meant Harold still had his money somehow and that made John glad. "Hi," he said softly, still holding on.

"Hi," Harold said back, smiling, really smiling, something John didn't think he'd ever seen except over Bear's antics. "I wasn't sure you'd come. It's good to see you."

John didn't bother saying it in return. A blind person could see how glad John was to see Harold. He lifted his hand and touched Harold's cheek, his hair, his jaw. "What's his name?" he said very softly.

"Bruno," Harold said just as softly. "And I'm Theodore."

"Not Ted?" John said, teasing.

"Not Ted," Harold said firmly. "And you're still John."

"I wasn't. I was Arnold Chum." He made a face.

Harold let out a small chuckle. "I see why you changed it."

"Is this safe?" John asked, not really caring, quite sure he wasn't letting Harold go anywhere without him again.

"For now. I can explain later." 

"And our mutual friend?"

Harold nodded. "I protested at first when I saw the wedding announcement, but I've been advised that sharing a last name will actually make us less noticeable to certain parties. Shall we take mine or yours?"

"Yours," John said right away. "It's a pretty bird."

Harold touched John's hair again, as if he couldn't stop. "Even though your picture was in the paper, or a simulated one, I was still afraid it might be Root who appeared. I don't think I could have gone through with it."

"But you will marry me?" John asked, grinning, a wild joy seizing him.

"If you'll have me," Harold said in return, a small grin on his face, his eyes still riveted to John's face, as if, he too, couldn't believe they were standing together. It felt like years since John had last seen him.

"Just try and weasel out of it," John teased again. 

"We won't be able to do what we were doing before." 

The numbers, John thought. Harold was talking about the numbers. "We'll figure something out. And I don't care." This time he leant down and kissed Harold lightly on the lips. "I don't care what we do, or where we live, or how we make a living, as long as I do it with you. And there will always be ways to save people."

Harold stared at him for the longest time, this soft look of wonder in his eyes, and John let him look, returning the favor second by second, drinking the man in, feeling the reassuring rapid breathing of Bear leaning against his leg.

"Mr. Bunting?" a woman's voice called. "The judge will see you now. I see your young man has shown up."

Harold grinned at that. "Yes, he has."

John rolled his eyes. "Cradle robber," he whispered.

Still grinning, Harold gestured toward the woman. John retrieved Bear's leash and handed it to Harold, and then took his other hand. "Let's go get hitched."

Harold squeezed his hand in return, and the three of them went where directed until they were standing in front of a judge. 

Harold had rings, and saying the words and having Harold slip a ring on his finger, and John slip a ring on Harold's fingers, was surprisingly emotional, and John had to blink back against a sting of tears. He was relieved Harold had to clear his throat a couple of times to get his next set of words out. 

"I now pronounce you married," the Judge said with a quick smile and a stamp of papers. "Marion will take you to the rest of the paperwork you need to fill out. She can take a picture if you want."

And then they were outside, sans picture, John and Theodore Bunting, and Bruno, their dog. John couldn't help but laugh. "Now what?"

"If you could live anywhere in the world other than here, where would you go?"

John's eyebrows went up. Then he got what Harold was saying. "It's just this country, isn't it?" He didn’t want to say Samaritan out loud, just in case.

"It is for now. Although I suspect, in time, he’ll branch out. But it will take years to put into place."

John thought a moment. "We had a nice day in Italy. I liked that suit."

"I'll buy you another one. And I hoped you'd say Italy. I, well, I have a house there."

"When can we go?"

"Today. Right now. The plane is standing by. But I know you have a business, and you might want a couple of weeks to close it down. Or, we could stay. We'll be in more danger if we stay but we'll make it work."

"How are we not in danger right now?"

"We came up with a system where my phone blocks any surveillance. But if your phone does the same thing, the dual blank footprints might create a detectable pattern."

"How long did it take you to create that?" John asked, delighted with Harold's genius.

"All this time. It wasn't until now I felt free to contact you. But our mutual friend beat me to it."

"So this wedding wasn't your idea?" John asked.

Harold shook his head. "No, it did that all on its own. I hope you don't mind."

"It's a romantic." John smiled, charmed at the thought. 

"When I complained we'd be at risk, it simply said that people get married all the time, and I suppose that's true enough."

John had thought of marriage a lifetime ago with Jessica, and he wondered if they had gotten married back then, if they would still be together now. Or would they simply be one more divorce statistic as they parted ways angry and disillusioned. He wondered if she would suit him now the way Harold did, if she would speak to the part of him that desperately needed a meaningful purpose to feel fully alive. Somehow he didn't think so.

"I don't read the paper," John said. "I wouldn't have seen it, except one of my students told me about it."

"We knew it was a risk. But if you hadn't appeared, I would have shown up for classes."

"So we really didn't need to get married," John said.

"No, we didn't," Harold said. "But I don't regret it. You are who I would choose to spend the rest of my life with. Although I do apologize that you're getting somewhat damaged goods."

"I'm just as damaged, if not more. You just can't see it on the outside." And only with you do I feel less damaged, he added to himself. One day he'd tell Harold that, although he suspected Harold already knew. "And it would attract more attention to just disappear, so I should probably go back to the studio and make it known that I’m leaving town with my new husband. I have a very small studio apartment above the dojo," John added with a wry grin.

"And I believe they have a lovely penthouse suite at the hotel across the street," was Harold's succinct and ready reply. "I'll set our departure for three weeks? Will that be sufficient time?"

"Yes," John said. Just because he could, he grabbed Harold again, and brought him close for another hug. "I was going crazy without you."

He was gratified when Harold hugged him back. "And I, you." He rested his forehead on John's shoulder. "From the moment we were parted, I've been working on finding you."

"Do you know where anyone else is?"

"No, and I have no intention of finding them. I'm afraid Root and Ms. Shaw will have to carry on without us." He glanced up at John. "Once we leave this parking lot, until we're out of the country, we'll have to use our new names and say nothing of other things."

"I can do that," John said, "as long as I have you. And I don't care what your name is. And we'll have plenty to talk about with moving and our lives now that we're married."

Harold let out a silent huff of laughter. "After Grace, I never imagined myself married, let alone to another man."

"Is that a problem?" John asked. Perhaps he'd been naïve to assume this was going to end up with them in bed together.

"No," Harold assured him. "Not a problem." This time when he huffed it was with a hint of self-deprecation. "You used to be quite a distraction."

John grinned. "Glad to hear it. I tried as hard as I could."

"I suspected you were trying, but it seemed better to leave it unsaid."

John wasn't sure about that, but it hardly mattered now. "Which car is yours?"

"I was dropped off," Harold said. "I was hoping you'd be here and that I would leave with you."

"Even better." With a command to Bear that got him up and at John's side, John put his hand at the small of Harold's back and moved them all to his car. He got Harold situated with some assistance, and Bear jumped in the back seat. 

"Let me guess, you already have the penthouse reserved?"

"It seemed prudent," Harold said with his 'what do you take me for' voice.

John had to kiss him now, so he did, doing most of the moving to spare Harold's body, and he kissed him with intent, with tongue, and the noises coming from Harold made John's insides sizzle with arousal. Knowing, even with his assistance, that this couldn't be very comfortable for Harold, John finally pulled back.

"Oh my," Harold said, looking satisfactorily kissed, his eyes glazed over, reaching up to touch his lips, then licking them.

John let out a small groan, then started the car to get them to the hotel as soon as possible. With the dojo closed for the weekend, they had time for a honeymoon. Before leaving the car, he took a pistol out of his glove compartment and tucked it in his waistband under his coat jacket. 

Checking in was the work of a few seconds when Harold dropped his name and black American Express card, and Harold handed John the key card. John felt like growling as he followed Harold to the elevator, Bear at Harold's side, playing the part of companion dog to the hilt.

They were silent as the elevator rode to the top floor and as it arrived with a ding. The elevator door opened up into a sizeable rectangular shaped foyer with love seats at each narrow end, and a large wooden double door that presumably led into the suite.

John found himself grinning as he used the key to open up the suite, throwing the door wide, allowing Harold and Bear to enter first. It was ridiculously extravagant, nothing less than what he'd expect from Harold, and it was just icing on the cake that, apparently, he could expect the same from Theodore Bunting. 

Too ingrained to stop now, John prowled through the suite, assessing it for exits, weak points, as well as good places to either hide or shoot from. He laughed when he opened the closet door of the master bedroom and found several suits in their sizes.

"I hope you don't find this too presumptuous," Harold said a little nervously.

"You always have the right to presume on my behalf," John told him. "Are any of them in need of hemming?"

Harold looked at him, confused, but then, suddenly, not confused at all. In fact, he blushed.

John groaned. "You have no idea what self-control it took to not just get my fingers in your…" He cut off on a gasp, his cock already hardening, when Harold sank to his knees in front of John.

"I imagine," Harold said, "that it took as much self-control for me not to do this," and he pressed his mouth to John's clothed crotch, his teeth gently biting into the shape of him.

John let his fantasy assume reality as he ran his fingers through Harold's hair, pressing back against Harold's bite, then running one hand down Harold's face, to his lips, to feel them as they kissed the length of him. "Take me out," he whispered, this yet one more unbelievable thing happening to him on this unbelievable day.

Harold expertly undid his belt and pants and pulled him out, fully hard, and touched him. John almost lost his balance, almost landed on his own knees, but Harold put a balancing hand on John's hips, using his other to stroke him. 

John could have come from that alone, but then Harold put his mouth on him, sucking him into his mouth, his tongue wetting him, playing at all the right spots to bring John to the edge. It had been so long without someone's touch, and that it would be Harold, lost to him for so long and now his husband, touching him this way, it was suddenly too much, and he grabbed at Harold's hair to warn him, unable to find the right noises to form words, but Harold just sucked him harder, and then he was coming into Harold's hot mouth, and then sinking to his knees, his arms tight around Harold, kissing and kissing him, wanting to crawl inside the man and never come out.

Harold held him back just as tightly, kissing him back unreservedly, John's sudden desperation returned in spades. "John," Harold said shakily. "John, I was so afraid I'd never see you again. Every day I missed you so much. John. John."

"I'm here," John assured him. "I’m here, and I'm not going anywhere without you again. I promise. I promise." And then he was opening up Harold's pants and getting his fingers around Harold's cock, squeezing and pulling, and Harold panted against him, his kisses growing less focused as he mouthed at John's jaw and neck, and then he was coming into John's hand, and then they trembled together, still on their knees, holding on tightly.

*****

Later on, when they had gotten cleaned up, taken Bear for a walk, and were lying in bed, with Bear stretched out on the floor near the door, John couldn't stop staring, couldn't stop touching, his fingers running down Harold's face, through his hair, down his arms, his hip. 

Harold smiled kindly at him. "I find I'm almost afraid to go to sleep only to wake up and find this has all been a dream." 

"I don't think even I could have dreamed up the gift basket they sent up to us," John said. "For Mr. and Mr. Bunting."

Snickering, Harold laced his fingers with John. "It was quite remarkable."

John barked out a laugh. "Sex toys, lube, condoms. Do you suppose they do that for everyone?" He nuzzled Harold's neck. "Or do you suppose they thought I was your boy toy? There are a couple dom/sub clubs close by. We could go play."

"No, thank you," Harold said in a voice that brooked no argument. "I have no intention of sharing you with anyone, even if it is just to look at you." He sighed. "Besides, we need to be careful of photographs, and everyone would want a photo of you."

John snorted. It was nice that Harold thought that, but John wasn't a young stud anymore either. "That's fine, Har...Theodore. I wouldn't want anyone assuming they could move in on my territory either."

"Somehow I don't think that would be a problem."

"Don't underestimate yourself," John said, kissing Harold. "You might have a limp, but you exude power, and you can hold a room with ease. How else do you explain having me and Shaw willing to do your bidding?" He glanced to make sure Harold's phone was nearby, so he didn't have to watch his words so carefully. They'd have to make up a list of words and phrases to avoid, that might capture the wrong sort of attention.

"Exceedingly generous pay on her part, I expect."

"You'd be wrong. You changed her," John said. "You changed me. You have no idea how much you changed me. You know what I was like when you met me. Damaged. Broken. Suicidal. Eaten up by guilt and rage. I don't think I would have lasted another six months." 

"Every day I watched someone else die I couldn't save," Harold said. "You saved me from that." His eyes were sleepy and he yawned. "Just be here when I wake up."

"I promise," John said. "Go to sleep."

It didn't take long until Harold was sleeping, a soft snore accompanying every breath out. John listened to him for a long time until he began to get sleepy himself. He reached for his phone, checked the time and temperature, and then, on a whim, he said, "Thank you."

His phone dinged, signifying a text received, and he read it with a smile. "YOU'RE WELCOME," it said.

John kissed Harold's forehead and allowed himself to drift off. And when he woke up, Harold was still there.

The End.


End file.
